


Space to Breathe

by imperfectkreis



Series: A Handbook of Images [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Clothing Kink, Communication, Established Relationship, F/M, Married Couple, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Set after endgame. Not necessary to read my longer series, this is a stand-alone smut fic.) Recently married Cullen and Sabina Trevelyan have sex. It's not complicated. It also doesn't have a plot. Coat porn, strap-on, actually fairly romantic and sweet (for me).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space to Breathe

Sabina Trevelyan doesn't know how she'll ever find her feet again. Not with the way Cullen looks at her, knocks her over with his gaze from across the room. And he doesn’t even mean to. His eyes wide, soft, pink lips parted. He looks like he loves her. He says it too. Says he'll keep saying it, over and over until she believes it unconditionally. It's such a small sacrifice compared to what they have already given, the spaces where words go. She traces his lip with the pad of her finger when he comes close.

Though it's not always with the same words, she tells him too. That she loves him in a way she didn't think possible. Before him, she found love unpalatable, not in her wheelhouse. Didn’t push it away, but it never came to her either. Now she knows it, that she can love, in the way she rests her head on his shoulder, cards her fingers through his hair. How even though he took her noble name, he'll call her Rutherford when they're alone. And she'll smile, cock her head to one side and call him husband.

Spring is breaking but a chill still hangs in the evening air. She wears loose dresses during the day, they chafe her long scar less than a tunic and breeches would. But the linen fabric is too light and airy for evenings in the tavern where the fireplaces are no longer lit. Cullen says he'll keep her warm, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her close. With a laugh she tries to push her arms into his coat, stealing warmth where she can. 

They don't last long like that, tangled in each other in plain view of their companions and colleagues. She wants to go to bed, and from the way Cullen's erection presses against her back, he does too.

Waving the others off, she says she has an early morning tomorrow. 

Sera comes back, "More like a late night!" Cheeky girl.

It doesn't matter what they know, or think they know. Embarrassing really, though, that Cullen has become her weakness. Just another fleshy body like her own. Made of muscle and bone, fragile, breakable things. But maybe that is why she can love him so fiercely, because he can be lost.

As they exit the tavern he takes his coat from his shoulders and puts it on hers. It's already warm from the heat of his body. Smells like him too, normal, natural, not like the scents she wears at her neck while on diplomatic functions. She pulls his coat around her, not bothering to slot her arms through properly. While he is quite a bit broader than her, he's no more than a few inches taller, so it fits against her body surprisingly well. Together they cross the courtyard, his hand at the small of her back.

"Maker," he breathes just behind her, "if I realized how good you would look in that, I would have given it to you sooner."

She smiles and pulls the coat tighter, already formulating plans.

Once inside their quarters he pushes her against the wall, capturing her lips and slotting their bodies together. His hands go for the delicate buttons at the side of her cream colored dress. One by one they pop open for him.

"Cullen," she asks, "are you drunk?" She's not. Only two glasses of wine over the course of dinner and a few hands of Wicked Grace. Makes her relaxed, but not drunk. There's something she's been waiting for, but he needs to be fully with her. At least this first time. 

"No darling." To get her dress off the coat must be removed. She wishes there was some other way. Such things do not always progress as elegantly as she would like from desire to intercourse. But both of them are patient with one another, at least when it comes to this. Perhaps not so much with other things.

"I want to have you." Biting at his lip she draws his gasp. 

He smiles, nods, pulls her dress over her head so she's standing in her smalls and leather boots. With the scar, she avoids wearing breastbands when she can. Her chest is rather small, so it rarely looks inappropriate. Only really needs her breasts supported when she knows she must run. 

"Undress for me." The laces at his trousers are already open. She managed to pull them apart without his notice. Once his shirt is discarded she presses a kiss against the higher of his two scars, the one just over his left pectoral. 

"You're so beautiful," he clutches her face between his large hands, with the oft broken knuckles. They are both a litter of injuries. Some of those stories more flattering than others. He picks up his coat, putting it back on her shoulders. This time she does wear it properly, pulling her arms through. Tosses her long hair loose. This is obscene, nearly naked in his coat, like being inside him.

"And you are too kind, Cullen." Her hands drape around his shoulders, fingers coming to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. "I want to fuck you."

With his hands on her hips, outside of the coat, he sways them side to side. His dancing skills are poorer than hers, but that is to be expected. Lessons in everything for her, only that dream of being a Templar for him.

"I thought we established that," he teases. In the year they have been together he has become bolder when it comes to sex. Her doing, undoubtedly. While still he'll avoid certain words, phrases that make him uncomfortable, he'll also speak up about what he likes, doesn't like. Never asks to be taken, but always says yes quickly, enthusiastically. 

"I don't want to use my fingers, though."

Pulling back he eyes her skeptically. "Don't tell me there's some sort of magic involved. Because, Maker, that's an interpretation of 'serving man' I'm unfamiliar with."

She laughs, because of course Cullen would think it's some sort of new, hidden magic he's never heard of. And she's not even a mage. Not really. Can only really make a couple of sparks scatter when she thinks very hard about it. He hasn't tried to cast again, but she's certain he can still produce fire if under great duress. 

"No, something else." She slides out from between him and the wall. His eyes trail her barely clothed body as she rifles through her drawers. She leaves the coat open as a temptation.

Pulls out the harness first, then the attachment. Rather small really, doesn't need to be any bigger. About four inches and as slender as three of her fingers bound together. For her it's never been about size. Causing discomfort or wrecking someone so they can't walk doesn't interest her. It's a different desire. To play with positions, to know he trusts her, listen to him mewl in pleasure. "Have you seen one of these before?"

He's beet red already, half obscuring his face with his hand. "Maybe...yes, in Kirkwall."

"Hmm," she inserts the dildo into the harness, but does not yet move to put it on. "Have you had one used on you before?"

"No, no. You're the only woman to..." It's that problem he has articulating vulgar things. She does it for him.

"The only one to penetrate you? Stick her fingers inside you?"

Pink lips hang just so slightly open, "Yes. That."

"If you're not comfortable with the idea, we don't have to." She passes him the harness so he can look it over. Brown leather, just a shade darker than her skin and the semi-opaque glass of the dildo. It's the attachment he spends time looking at.

"You've done this before?" 

She shrugs her shoulders, "Yes, a bit. You know I won't hurt you. But I bought the attachment last time I was in Val Royeaux. Been thinking about it for awhile. Since you enjoy my fingers."

Passing it back to her, he remains solem, thinking over her proposal. His hands come to rest on her shoulders, buried in fur, pulling her forward just a touch, lowering his mouth to kiss. It's gentle, sweet. Makes her heart flutter to feel so loved, more than that, accepted. 

"Yes, alright. How do you want me?" He tucks a loose curl behind her ear.

"On your back, so I can see your face, watch you touch yourself." 

He nods. They both have to shuck their shoes, too many laces to come undone before toeing them off. With that taken care of, he grabs her about the waist, lifting her off the ground so he can carry her to bed. Her wet sex presses against his abdomen as she curls her legs around him. When her back hits the mattress she laughs, makes him smile. The coat falls open around her.

"My darling wife." Careful not to bite too hard, he teases her nipples with his teeth. Licking and sucking until they are hard. Sometimes she thinks she may be able to come just like this. Thrusting her hips slowly against his groin while he works her breasts with his hands and mouth. 

"On your back, like a good boy."

He smiles and rolls over. It takes her a few minutes to work the harness, deftly adjusting the straps so they feel smooth and welcome against her hips and ass. Fits her like a dream. Should, after the money she spent. From the bedside table she draws a bottle of oil. Gives it to Cullen to warm in his larger hands. 

"You're going to look so good with my cock in you," she hisses, letting the phallus brush against his flat, scarred stomach as she hovers over him. His coat curtains their bodies. She likes the weight of it. Likes even better the explicit reversal of roles, becoming him, just a little, to fuck him.

He passes her back the bottle of oil so she can slick her fingers with it, pours a little more so she can coat the false cock as well. Hurting him is not her goal. She wants him to enjoy this, to want to play again. To buck and whimper and fucking cum for her.

Used as he is to the stretch of her fingers, she scissors him open without much trouble, works him slowly until he yields. With his legs splayed open for her, she can't resist but stroke her free hand against his inner thigh. Traces her hand until she cups his balls, working them over gently. He's tight around her fingers, deliciously so.

"You're beautiful," she means it. Always thinks it. That he is the more acceptable face of the Inquisition. Handsome, masculine, hopelessly devout. She's the terror that must be masked for public consumption. Attractive enough in features, but not the delicate waif who must also be battle hardened. They expect her to be everything at once. Cullen only expects her to be his.

"Flatterer."

"You started it," she teases.

Withdrawing her fingers, she positions the head of her cock at his entrance. It's a different sensation, not quite feeling his reactions against her own skin. She's accustomed to feeling out his resistances, little hitches and quivers. Like this she must watch him, hope he speaks up or gives some sign of pleasure or discomfort.

"Breathe for me, Cullen." His chest flutters. So wonderfully alive it makes her heart ache.

Slowly, gently, she pushes into him. When he screws shut his eyes, she stops. Kisses the corners of his eyes, just where wrinkles have formed. She could have sworn they were not there two years ago when this all started, but she cherishes them now.

"Too much?" She asks.

"It's fine, I'm fine. Just, pressure."

She nods and waits for him to relax. He doesn't say to continue, but when his bright eyes come open she slides a bit deeper. Then more, until her hips are flush against his. His legs come to wrap around her waist. Like this she could die happy, the way he kisses her. Drowning.

Starts off with a low roll of her hips, just barely pulling back, doesn't want to break the contact she so enjoys. Her hands plant on either side of his head for balance. This is as she has wanted him. Below her, awash in pleasure he cannot otherwise articulate. Like she still struggles to articulate how important this man is to her. How she'll make poor, reckless decisions on his behalf. 

One of his hands slides between their bodies, working his cock in hurried strokes. The other holds her breast, a thumb playing over her nipple. She can feel him bucking back into her now, willing to take more at a time.

"Look at my good boy." She smiles, "so full of my cock, spreading himself for me."

Licking along his neck, she wants to bite, mark him. Always wants to do that. It is as if the rings on their fingers are not enough. They mean too little, are too common for the way they care.

"Are you going to come with my cock in your ass, Cullen?" Spears him a little rougher as she taunts. "Going to remember tomorrow how you were my good boy?"

He lets out a low groan, something from deep inside his mangled chest. Against her skin he feels so warm, like he might burn her. Doesn't surprise her in the least that his first spell was fire. It has always been like this between them.

The base of the cock rubs against her clit in a pleasant way. She likes the rhythm of it. Likes Cullen's face and noises more. The slide of his hand between their bodies as he tries to bring himself off, so full of her.

"I'm close," he warns, straining, "so close."

She increases the pace of her thrusts, knocking their bodies against one another. Savouring the feeling of him surrounding her. Buried in his scent and clothing and just him. Enveloping. 

"Keep your eyes open. I want to watch you cum." She directs.

And he does. Those light eyes stay on hers as he comes between their bodies, sticky and runny at the same time, coating his stomach and splashing against her abdomen. Seeing him come apart like this, eyes blown wide, panting, soft keens of pleasure from his lips, it's enough to send an orgasm through her. Hadn't thought the pleasurable rub of the harness would be enough. But coupled with him, it is.

He's still struggling to slow his breathing as she pulls out of him. Quickly as she can manage she just unhooks the straps and drops the harness to the floor. Now she only wishes to hold him, to care and be cared for. His hand is over his eyes, trying to bring himself under control.

"Oh, Sabina, oh."

"Did you like it?" She presses against his side, tucking her head against his shoulder. It is important to her that he likes it.

"Yes," his hand comes away from his face. "I liked it. And I love you."

She kisses his cheek, his neck. Kicks up the words, both because he needs them now and because she means them. They're not enough, really. "I love you."

As is often the case, he settles into sleep before she can. She tries to shed his coat without disturbing him. Now it’s too warm to keep on. Doesn't manage to do so. He's staring at her in the darkness. It is impossible for her to not stare back.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you waiting on the proper sequel storyline to "Both Matter," soon! I have three chapters drafted and the whole storyline plotted out. In the meantime, here's some porn.
> 
> As always comments/kudos are very much appreciated and make me a happy pornographer. Writer, I mean writer.


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